


Tomatoes and Herbs

by atashi7



Category: Newsies, Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Food, M/M, They're like soften a lot, maybe a bit ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-05 03:14:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10296236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atashi7/pseuds/atashi7
Summary: Spot depends his life on Race's cooking. Fortunately, Race is very good cook.





	

**Author's Note:**

> First ever fic for the fandom -though not the first fanwork. I converted quickly since the very first time I watched the 1992 movie several days ago, and on the next day, the fandom made me what I am now: thirst for more Sprace that I have to make my own. 
> 
> I'm just very happy that, from his actor -and his looks, actually -Racetrack must be have an Italian bloodline. I want to make him cooks a lot and very good at it. 
> 
> Also, describing food in writings actually feels really nice.

“Spot, I’m home!”

As the very familiar cheery voice entering the room, Spot Conlon looked up his blond head from the pillow he’s been burying his face for hours, blue eyes sparkled in glee. He climbed over the sofa headrest and half-ran to the kitchen, where the previous voice owner directly walked into.

Racetrack was in the middle of taking out stuffs from his shopping bags when Spot, tried to tone down his excitement, came up in the kitchen, leaning to the wall and managed to let out calmly, “I thought you’ll stay for another week.”

“Yeah, change of plan.” Race grinned upon him with his hands full of packed veggies, “I figured you’ll be dead if I take more days away. Mama even told me to stay there forever, but who’s going to take care of you then?” Spot felt warm with the love for the Italian. Race opened the fridge, glanced inside and sighed, “And I know you won’t even bother to shop at all when I’m not around.”

“Then you shop before you got home?” That little thoughtful act made Spot all happy inside. He pulled his lover, turned him around and started to brush upon Race’s lips gently with his own.

“Spot, I need to–“

“Later.”

Race obeyed. He miss Spot too, after all.

After a whole five minutes of satiating the needs of each other that had been pent up for entire week, Race pulled from the kiss, lips swollen and red forming a pout, “What have you been eating, then? You ate out every day?”

“I didn’t.” Spot put his head on the crook between Race’s neck and shoulder, rubbing his nose on Race’s shirt. Race smells like tomatoes and herbs –he must be confining himself inside his Mama’s kitchen entire weeks he was home.  “Sometimes I didn’t at all.”

“Spot, really.”

“You know how everything tastes bland after I get to taste your cooking.” Spot pecked all over the smooth surface of Race’s neck and jawline.

Race pushed him gently –Spot groaned on this –and grinned, “Mi amore, let me cook something for you then.”

Spot pulled Race back to a hug, “Not after more kisses.”

“Are you not starving?”

“No–” A grumble from inside the half-Irish stomach wasn’t really an affirmation to his answer.

Race snickered, “Come on, love. I’ll cook up something pretty quick, and we can get the kissy part after you’re full and happy.”

Spot resigned to his hunger. He let go Race softly, but not before a loving peck on the shorter one's forehead.

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The table was full with meals as Race done, all looked very mouth-watering with amazing popped colors of the ingredients –not to mention the smell. Spot was holding in another big rumble out his stomach as Race wiped his brow, cheeks red with kitchen heat, let out a delighted huff.

Deluxe-looking Frutti di Mare Fettuccine was their lunch for today –Race stopped by a seafood store on his way home and got themselves fresh baby clams, huge mussels, wild shrimps, and juicy squids. They’re mixed with boldly colored sauces of tomatoes with spices and herbs and green baby spinach, wilted and flavorful. To accompany the pasta, there’s a big wooden bowl of salad topped with Sicilian green olives and shaves of Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, dressed with humble drizzle of oil and vinegar. Then, a loaf of bread sliced and arranged on top of rustic wooden chop board.

Race always made any of their meals looks like they’re served by some top-notch restaurant. Except of course, Race was indeed working in one –a small but busy authentic Italian two blocks away, which always full-booked in their every opening hours. Spot was very lucky he be able to eat all the menus there at home because he dated one of the cooks.

The blond quickly seated on his chair, once again observing their lunch –this time more closely. He sighed at the smell of their freshly cooked lunch, “I love you, Race. Please marry me.”

A hearty laugh, then Race kissed Spot on the top of his head on his way to his seat, “I won’t let you starve ever again.”

Spot smirked, “You know that it means you have to stay and cook for me for your entire life, right?”

“Yeah.” Race pulled a smile, “And what are you saying about marrying before?”

 

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End file.
